


Lay Your Hands

by hybridshade (shimyaku)



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Anal Sex, Biting, Blood and Injury, Body Modification, Body Worship, Challenge Response, Community: salt_burn_porn, Discrimination, Doctors & Physicians, Escape, Explicit Sexual Content, Injury, M/M, Mild Painplay, Minor Violence, Pain, Rituals, Scarification, Shy Jensen Ackles, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-24
Updated: 2014-11-24
Packaged: 2018-02-26 20:14:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2664893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shimyaku/pseuds/hybridshade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the Tribe's greatest warriors fight for the right to be named next Clan Chieftain, warrior Jared turns up on physician Jensen's doorstep urgently in need of healing. He finds a whole lot more than that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lay Your Hands

**Author's Note:**

> **A/N:** written for [](http://salt-burn-porn.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://salt-burn-porn.livejournal.com/)**salt_burn_porn** for the prompt 'heartlines'

Jensen was fetching water from a nearby well when he heard the first whispers. 

The Clan Chieftain was dead. 

It had happened more quickly than anticipated, and within the hour he felt the shuddering of the land beneath his feet as horses were sent out bearing official communications. His mentor Jim had always been the Chieftain's preferred physician, the only one to lay his hands upon their leader, and he hoped the man was well - the Clan advisors were both paranoid and suspicious at the best of times. But it would do no good to dwell. If there were anyone who could take care of themselves even amid the most stressful of situations, it was surely Jim. 

If the gossip and the travelling of messengers were signs of the truth, things would be changing before long. The last Rise of a new ruler had been so long ago Jensen was too young at the time to remember it. He'd heard plenty of stories though, and knew vaguely what to expect. No doubt all the bloodshed would keep Jensen and his peers especially busy.

Soon the Tribes would arrive in King's Oasis, and the Clan as Jensen knew it would never be the same.

 

~///~

 

The fields surrounding the main part of the town were pitched with tents and makeshift huts as far as the eye could see. With so many opposing groups in one place, it was no wonder Jensen was practically being run off his feet, tending to minor wounds from whatever small tussles broke out between the Tribes. 

It was a good way of familiarising himself, however. It would pay to know who was who once the competition was underway. The Tribe of a Thousand Sands were from deep in the southern desert – their skins were coffee-brown and their eyes dark, and they wore loose-fitting, beaded robes with turbans that covered most of their face. They thought nothing of Jensen tending one of their men, their in-house medicine man even questioning him eagerly on his methods. From high in the mountains to the east came the Tribe of Midwinter Snow, clad in furs and leathers, their skin as pale as their icy blue eyes. Their manner was more toward what Jensen was used to – that is, none had spoken to Jensen but for the man he was treating, while the rest either ignored him completely or watched him with wariness as if he might make some sudden move.

That wasn't to say his fellow townsfolk treated Jensen with mistrust – _caution_ was perhaps a more appropriate word. As one who held death in his hands on a daily basis, Clan rules demanded he work from beneath the cover of a hooded cloak. Should anyone die whilst under his care, or regret his dragging them back from the brink of death, his personal safety was to be assured. Most all of the Tribes were spiritual or superstitious in one fashion or another, and many looked upon his work of dealing with both the living and the dead as something to be wary of. In Jensen's mind it may have been more a science than anything, but the population at large saw it as a potential meddling with the will of the Spirits, despite that they never hesitated to contact either him or one of his peers when the need arose. The arrival of the Tribes presented a unique opportunity, and wherever permissible he spoke with other physicians and medicine men and women who had travelled there, eagerly asking questions of his own.

Jensen's feet ached by the time the sun descended below the horizon and the Tribes settled for the night. From the edge of the town the outer lands looked like a sea of dancing flames, a night sky's worth of stars right there on the earth. Just that afternoon the last of the Tribes had finally arrived to honour the passing of the Chieftain. 

Tomorrow the real battle would finally begin.

 

~///~

 

Another heap of bloodied rags went into the fire and Jensen returned to his quarters to scrub his hands clean. 

His personal living area was hidden behind his work space – a reasonably large mud brick building with six separate rooms. That was more than most houses, but it proved necessary when there were outbreaks of illness that had to be kept isolated, or many injuries as a result of some sort of combat. The latter reason would no doubt reveal itself over the weeks to come. Previously the rooms had belonged to Jim, but in recent years since Jensen had completed his training, Jim had taken to being live-in physician for the Chieftain. Jensen still called upon him from time-to-time, but he had the knowledge and skill to manage most things on his own.

Wiping his hands with a clean cloth, Jensen returned to the clinic rooms and was pulled up short, shocked to find another figure standing in the doorway. Dusk was well on its way and thus it was late for a warrior to present themselves at his door – the battles for right to bear the next name of Chieftain were one-week deep and ongoing, but said battles were usually ended for the day while the sun was still in the sky. 

The figure before him pushed away from the door jamb and revealed himself by the light of a hanging oil lamp. He was filthy. His body caked in dirt and blood, his shoulder-length hair matted and tangled. He looked at Jensen intently, and Jensen felt his knees go weak with fear once he realised he'd pushed his cowl back earlier and had not pulled it back up. He immediately retreated into the shadows and fumbled to cover himself appropriately.

"Begging you pardon, sir, I did not expect anyone this late."

"I'm no 'sir'," the man said, the vaguest of smirks tilting his lips, "My name is Jared, and I have only just completed my last match. The umpire advised me to seek your aid should I not want to die before my next fight."

The wheels began to turn in Jensen's head. "Which means you must have been today's overall winner."

"It's true, I was. But if I'm to make that win count, I'm going to need some expert tending-to."

Jensen grabbed another free-standing oil lamp and pointed towards one of the exam rooms, but as Jared began to move, he noticed just in time to catch the warrior from falling face first to the ground. Jared groaned, and Jensen struggled to keep them both upright, but between the two of them they somehow managed to situate Jared on the foot-high cot. Jensen hung the lamp and used an arrangement of mirrors to amplify the light, quickly turning back to Jared in attempt to catalogue his injuries.

He nearly choked on his words.

"You've been stabbed. Twice. And slashed. A lot. Heavy bruising and possible rib fracture. Facial grazing. Am I missing anything?"

Jared attempted to laugh, only for it to transform into a pained hiss. "I'd say that's the bulk of it."

"I'm…" Jensen reached out to touch, only to hold himself back, "I'm going to have to wash you. I hope that won't be—"

Jared suddenly grabbed his arm, silencing him immediately. It was only a sliver of Jensen's wrist, but they were touching, skin to skin.

"What's your name?"

"Je-, uh, Jensen."

"Jensen, do you recognise what Tribe I'm from?"

He took stock of the finer point of Jared's appearance, firstly noting the hint of metal through his hair, where small studs were punched all the way up the sides of his ears.

"You're a seafarer?"

"I'm from the Tribe of Neptune's Tide. The sea is our deity, we are at its mercy, but more than anything we believe in Fate rather than the will of the Gods. That means – and please don't take offense – but I care nothing for this cloak business of yours. It makes little sense to me that King's Oasis would treat its healers so poorly. You'd think you were diseased or something."

With great trepidation, Jensen extracted his wrist from Jared's hold and took the edge of his hood in hand, shifting it just enough to let it pool behind his head like a darkened halo.

Jared just stared.

"You're gorgeous."

"You're delirious."

Before Jared could say anything else, Jensen hurried from the room to grab a cloth and a bowl of lightly soaped water. He couldn't bring himself to look Jared in the eye once he returned, instead kneeling on a floor cushion and getting straight to work. He cut away the shredded remains of Jared's tunic, being as gentle as he could where the fabric had glued itself to Jared's skin with dried blood. Jensen then began to cleanse the grime from his body, towelling Jared dry as he went, and taking extra care around the raw wounds.

"These knife wounds aren't fresh."

"They-… they were from earlier today," Jared said, hesitating, "But if I hadn't kept going I would have had to forfeit the round. I knew if I could win then I would be free to rest."

"So you won, obviously," Jensen mocked, "And how long do you have to rest?"

"Two days."

"Knife wounds don't heal in _two days_."

"Then I trust you'll do your best."

Jensen shook his head in disbelief and carried on with his task. Once Jared was cleaned from the neck to the waist of his pants, he stopped and found he couldn't draw his eyes away. Jared's form was about as perfect a one as Jensen had ever seen. He was long-limbed without being too lean and well-muscled without being bulky, his skin was nut-brown from a life under the sun, and then there were the markings…

Scars and tattoos littered his body, patterning his skin like paint on a canvas. Seafarers were known for their love of tattooing, which Jared was no exception to, but it was the scarification that drew Jensen's attention. He'd treated plenty of warriors so far in his career, this was true, but those who ended up injured and in his rooms were the losing party more often than not. Those kinds of warriors who won the majority of their matches rarely had need of passing through his doors, thus giving him little chance to view the verification of their successes. But there was Jared, and the 'verification' of his previous wins in combat were right there, only a hand's span from his face. Swooping chains of raised dots circled under his left pectoral, three straight slashes cut over his lower abdomen, and some sort of swirling pattern covered the entirety of his right shoulder. 

These were the confirmations of his honourable kills. 

For all their differences, one thing all the Tribes had in common was this practice. A warrior's triumphs should always be visible upon his skin.

"You can touch them if you like… I'm surprised, though. I would have thought you'd seen them up close before."

Jensen mentally stopped himself from reaching out. "Usually the only ones I get to see up close are those that have become septic. By the time they've healed they've lost any chance to retain this sort of beauty."

Jared grinned. "Aren't you supposed to be mending my wounds?"

Feeling his face heat, Jensen instantly turned to the table holding his supplies and got what he needed. He did his best to ignore Jared and his brands as he shuffled into the vee of his legs, bringing him as close as possible to the knife wounds in question. He set about cleaning, stitching, packing, and bandaging each injury in turn, not realising until he'd fastened the last strip of cotton just how close he and Jared's bodies were. He could see the clamminess of Jared's skin, his reaction to the pain, and hear the labouring breaths of each inhalation. The heat was radiating off of Jared's body, enough that Jensen could feel it on his cheeks, and down below, where his waist pressed against Jared's inner thighs, something else was also pressing up against him. He gasped.

"Jensen, I-… Sorry. It's the pain."

"No, it's fine, I understand," Jensen placated, planning to scoot backwards and put some distance between them. But then he made the mistake of looking up. Into Jared's eyes. His pupils were blown wide.

"Your hands—"

"Jared—"

"Put them on me."

Jensen dared not disobey. He splayed them over Jared's stomach, avoiding the wounds, and smoothed over every inch of hard muscle, traced every raised line of his expertly carved victories. He pressed his lips against them.

'Fuck, Jensen. Come here."

Large hands cupped the back of Jensen's head and raised his face upward, tilting it just right for Jared to claim his lips with the force of a thunderstorm. Jensen just let him in without a fight, let Jared plunder his mouth, swirling and sucking, nipping at his bottom lip until it stung. And then suddenly Jared was lifting him from the floor, lifting him up into his lap. His cloak was untied and thrown away, and Jared was touching him all over. He'd known it was coming, but it didn't make the feeling any less shocking.

"S'okay, Jensen. You're perfect."

Hands roamed his back all the way down to Jensen's hips, curling over the still-clothed globes of his ass. He jutted his hips backward, pressing back into them.

"Let me?"

"Not tonight," Jensen regretfully shook his head, but knew it was for the best, "Come back to me when you're rested, when you're healed…"

Jared sighed with understanding and pulled him down into a kiss.

 

~///~

 

Clawing at Jared's stomach, Jensen watched under the dim lamp light as pink, blood-speckled lines appeared on his skin. It may not have been so permanent as Jared's other embellishments, but it was his own mark upon him, and it made something swell within his chest.

Jared had made his own mark upon Jensen in turn. Looking down he could see the swollen nubs of his nipples and the dozen-or-so bite marks littering his chest and stomach. Lower again was the flushed red of his hard cock, his balls pressed firmly against Jared's abdomen. Jensen reached back and slid his fingers down the crease of his ass, fingertips circling around the slickened rim of his entrance, the skin stretched tight around the thickness of Jared's cock. He knew he was teasing, but Jensen just wanted that moment for himself. He was no virgin, but his trysts were few and so far between, and always 'disguised' as a visitor from out of town. He could count the number of people in King's Oasis that knew his face on one hand, but every time he'd gone out there looking for physical comfort, not once had he ever been able to go as _himself_.

Then suddenly here was Jared, and he was _Jensen_ , and it was devastating in the best way possible.

"Gods, Jensen, _please move_."

He put his hands down and levered himself up, relishing the well-oiled drag, and then dropped himself slowly down again, Jared groaning like he'd been punched in the gut. Jared put up with it only twice more before his frustration won out. All Jensen noticed was the sudden feeling of floating, and then Jared was pressing him into the thin mattress and pounding into his ass like a Trojan. Jared had been right that Jensen's medical care was top-notch.

Jensen swallowed down a scream as Jared hit that place inside of him, and he grabbed his own cock, desperately jerking himself to completion. His whole body tensed as he spilled over his hand, and Jared's head immediately dropped down, teeth biting into Jensen's shoulder as his hips stuttered to a stop. Hot breath peppered his neck as Jared pulled out, liquid warmth dripping down the backs of his thighs.

Jared dropped exhaustedly down on top of him and Jensen wrapped himself around Jared's body, indulging in the feel of his scars pressing against his own unmarred skin.

It was still dark out in the dead of night, the world asleep all around them. 

Tomorrow Jared would be entering the finals of the combat. Once again, his life would be on the line.

"I've never seen the ocean," Jensen confessed.

Jared said nothing, only clutched him tighter.

 

~///~

 

Two days later saw them on a podium before thousands of people.

Jared was seated while Jensen stood over him, bone-carved mallet and chisel in hand, etching a symbol of Jared's newest victory into the expanse of his left pectoral - right atop his heart. Jared had insisted his surgeon's hands would be as precise and true as he imagined them to be, but Jensen could only hold his breath as he carved each line into Jared's flesh, coating it with tree sap as he went.

Jensen had never participated in such a thing before. The mark of a kill was to be given by someone a warrior respected or was indebted to, and for some reason Jared had chosen Jensen, and no one could deny him such a request. Jensen kept his hood firmly in place, however, well aware of the watchful eyes boring into his back.

Four days saw them on the run.

Seven saw them at the water's edge, Jensen gaping at the never-ending expanse of salty blue before him.

They had left before the newest Chieftain had been named, but Jared assured Jensen that his leader bore him no ill will for forfeiting the final battle. The Tribe of Neptune's Tide were a free spirited people, happy only to be at the mercy of the ocean, and not under the thumb of Clan rules and regulations.

Ten, and they were stepping onto a ship as big as a dozen large houses. Jensen hefted his medical pack over his shoulder, metal studs glinting in the lobes of his ears. He took a deep breath, lungs filling with the crisp, briny air, and tipped his head back, savouring the warmth of the sun pouring down upon his face.

 

~end


End file.
